Worthy
by SullenStriker
Summary: "Master, are you sure you can trust me with this power?" He asked this and many more. The Holy Grail is a powerful artifact sought after by many, including himself. Of all of Master's Servants, is he truly deserving of this gift? [Drabble. Features Fionn MacCumhaill and Phantom of the Opera.]


**Author's Note:** This is a short drabble largely inspired by my own recent gameplay experiences in FGO. In particular, one such incident in the America singularity involving Beowulf and a dragon (link to context: you tube .. c/o/m watch? v=JyLK906J1JY). Since then, I've considered a friendship between these two Servants to be a strangely adorable brOTP of sorts. Here's hoping that I can get them to work together more in the future.

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"Master, are you sure you can trust me with this power?"

Holding the Holy Grail in his hands, its iridescent glow reflecting off of his golden hair, a wave of apprehension rushes through him. For all of his legendary deeds, in his current incarnation, he hardly felt worthy of his title as a Heroic Spirit. Time, energy, resources, all wasted on him—and he knows it.

His Master reassures him—"It's fine," so they say—yet the weight of his burden still troubles him so. Imbued with the power of the Grail, he leaves the Master's presence.

Fionn is far from the only Servant who had gone through the Palingenesis process, but he is by far the latest. Master loves their Servants dearly, though their treatment of such a treasured and sought-after artifact is a bit worrying. To hand even a fragment of that power is to tell them "your wish deserves to come true", but is every wish deserving of that? Brows furrowed and hand against his head, he mutters to himself, "Maybe I'm overthinking this."

As he travels down the halls of Chaldea, he encounters many other Servants, including the Grailed ones. Paracelsus, the alchemist looked at as the "mother", accompanied by his devilish "son", Mephistopheles. Henry Jekyll, of anxious composition as he hauls an armload of strange ingredients, presumably for the mother. Mozart, the composer beloved by God, contrary to his perverted nature. Sanson, the executioner of justice, treating a young child with his medical prowess. Then there was the first one… but where is he?

Heading back into his assigned bedroom, the earlier anxiety has built up into paranoia, with a chilling sensation crawling along his back. Instinctively, he turns around. Nothing. Letting out a chuckle, he opens the door, ready to enter, when—

"Hi."

Nearly stumbling over in fright, he catches a glance of what he had previously assumed was naught but air. A shadowy figure gradually taking shape into that of a man in black. A butler? No, _him_. The Assassin who stained his hands red in pursuit of his love. The masked—or bespectacled, in his current state—specter who sang with a haunting voice and played on a grotesque instrument. The Phantom of the Opera. Master's first Grailed Servant.

Dusting off himself, Fionn regains his posture. "Erik, if you want to speak with me, you can approach me like a normal person would."

"Sorry, force of habit," Phantom replies meekly. "I suppose I should also apologize for following you to Christine's room as well."

 _Geez, stalker much?_ "How much did you hear?"

"Everything." His gloved hands brush against his chest, where his spirit core throbs with the power of the Grail.

A weak smile on his face, Fionn says, "You've been thinking the same thing, right? With so many of us possessing a Holy Grail, are any of us special? It's a question that's plagued my mind for a while."

"That's not quite it. Christine has not been paying much attention to me. Here, I thought she had returned my affections…"

Fionn drops his facade, lost in thought. He certainly wasn't wrong, but from his limited time in Chaldea, he knows that wasn't entirely correct, either. Briefly after, he lets out a guffaw. "Erik, surely you jest! If Master no longer cares for you, would he have let you fight alongside me against Beowulf and that dragon? As a knight, I must commend you for your combat abilities."

"B-but a lowly shadow like myself can never compare to a knight's brilliance. My only redeeming quality is my voice—and my voice served no purpose in that fight."

"Maybe not, but you still held your own regardless. If not for your Noble Phantasm, that dragon would still be standing, no? Give yourself some credit for once!" A bit calmer, he continues. "We may not have much in common, but your spooky presence has made my time here more comfortable. Perhaps our ill-fated history with women served to bring us together. I ask of you: will you continue to fight by my side for Master's sake… friend?"

Flustered at the statement, Phantom appears to shrink before Fionn's very eyes. Seeing a man of such large stature become so diminutive is a surreal, yet adorable sight. "Y-yes… friend."


End file.
